It's A Wonderful Life
by scubysnak
Summary: What happens when Catherine wishes she had never been born? CathSara. It's A Wonderful Life gets Scrooged. Epilogue is up. COMPLETED STORY.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em….**

**A/N: **_It's A Wonderful Life _is one of my favorite holiday movies. I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by to write a CSI-esque version of this classic film.

Thanks to **IMMI** for helping me out with the plot and being my sounding board for this one. You're an awesomely adorable leprechaun/blue princess.

XXXX

It had been another one of those days in Vegas. You know the type. And actually, they're not limited to just Vegas. I suppose they can and do happen in just about every town imaginable. But Vegas isn't like any other town. Vegas is a unique place. If you've ever visited it, you know that. This place gets under your skin. A whole lot of people do a lot of living and dying in Vegas. I don't have much to do with the living part, but when they die, I step in.

I seldom, if ever, see the best that mankind has to offer. It's only at a person's worst hour, in a family's most grief filled moment that I meet most people.

I've been doing this job longer than I care to admit. And I'm damn good at it. It's just that lately, more so than ever before, it all seems to be for naught.

It feels like I'm a failure at every turn. And I don't mean the kind of failure you easily recover from. I'm talking the kind of failure that takes a piece of your soul. I know you know what I'm talking about.

First there was the career as a stripper and the coke addiction. Then there was the failed marriage to Eddie. And let's not forget Eddie's unsolved murder. There was my staged rape. Lindsey was kidnapped. Sam was killed with me standing right beside him. Keppler was shot and killed. Sara was kidnapped—and barely found in time. And then she left. Just out of the blue, with no warning, she just left. I think Sara really was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

Digging in and fighting this everyday is too much. I have failed too many times and failed too many people.

I've had enough of this self-pitying and self-loathing sitting among strangers in this dimly lit, smoke filled bar. I turn to the woman sitting next to me, an otherwise gorgeous brunette whose hair isn't quite long enough and whose eyes are much too bright to be those of Sara. She hasn't stopped talking since she sat down next to me. Her continuous flirting and none too subtle touching of various parts of my body has kept my attention focused on her—well, split between her and the string of beer empty beer bottles sitting on the bar in front of me.

Her lips continue to move and sounds continue to escape from them.

"You know," I start, "I'm better off dead." I tilt my beer bottle in her direction as if to punctuate my words and give her a wink.

She smiles before she reaches over and strokes my arm, but her touch is alien. I feel nothing but cold and numb where her fingers trail over my skin. "Oh you don't mean that," she breathes as she inches closer to me. "Mmmm," she purrs into my ear, "why don't we get out of here and I can make you feel more alive than you've ever felt?"

I can only stare at her blankly. On the one hand, she's not Sara. On the other hand, she's not Sara. I'm out of hands. If she for one moment thinks she can make me feel alive, she's dumber than I had originally estimated—only she doesn't know it.

I tip my bottle against my lips one more time, draining it completely of any amber liquid remaining. I sit it on the bar and reach for her hand. I nearly fall as I try to stand up, but she just wraps her arm around my waist and I drape one over her shoulders.

XXXXX

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

It's too damn early for that alarm to be going off. I reach over to turn the alarm off and find myself draped over a warm, supple body. I open my eyes and notice the flash of brown hair.

"Sara?" I whisper.

She turns to face me and opens her eyes. Pangs of regret fill me. This isn't my Sara. Flashes from my drunken sexual misadventures with this pseudo-Sara in my bed fill my head. She smiles and starts to talk again.

I just roll back over onto my back and close my eyes as she snuggles into my side. It just feels so wrong. She doesn't look like Sara. She doesn't sound like Sara. She doesn't smell like Sara. Even in my drunken state I know she didn't taste like Sara. I wish the last twenty-four hours of my life to disappear. Hell, make that the last year. _I wish this last year had never happened. _

I open my eyes and she's still there. Maybe I didn't wish back far enough. _I wish the last two years had never happened._ I look to my side and she's still there.

I close my eyes once more. _I wish I had never been born._ I open them and she's still there. I throw the covers off and swing myself out of the bed.

I am about to step into the bathroom when I lose my footing and land solidly on the floor, my head smacking the edge of the tub as I fall.

XXXX

I slowly open my eyes, keenly aware of how bright the lights in this room are. Two strangers are standing over me. The man is holding a baseball bat and the woman behind him is using his body as a shield.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" I say hoarsely as I try to stand.

He pulls the bat back, obviously looking for a reason to hit me. "Your house? This is my house and I want to know why you're in my bathroom!"

I pull myself to my feet and hug the wall as I squeeze past the dynamic duo into the bedroom. It's totally different than the way my bedroom was decorated. The walls are no longer a soft shade of green. They're a deep caramel color. The pictures that litter the dresser and walls are all of unfamiliar people.

I can't help but wonder how many beers I had last night that I ended up in the wrong house.

I make my way through the familiar floor plan to the front door. I open it and step outside and look at the numbers on the house. Those are my numbers. This is my house. I look up and down the street. These are my neighbors. I'm in the right house. I turn to walk back in the house and the door is slammed in my face.

Just as I'm about to start pounding on the door and screaming at these strangers to get out of my fucking house, a voice stops me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warns.

I turn in search of the voice because I don't recall seeing anyone else on the steps or in the yard when I walked out of the house. I squint my eyes, hoping to make out a figure in the waning light of the early evening.

It's a woman. She looks vaguely familiar, like I should know her. I can't quite tell who she is though.

"Do I know you?" I ask harshly.

She steps closer and I recognize her features. Only, it can't be who I think it is. There's no way. She's still a child. And I'm….

I cock my head to the side, unsure of what and who I'm seeing. "Who are you?"

"Oh come on, Rin Tin. You know who I am. Look harder," she says as she steps closer and takes my hand.

I don't even have to look at her features. As soon as she takes my hand in hers, I'm flooded with memories of my childhood—of me riding horses, swimming in a nearby pond, playing with Nancy in the backyard.

"You can't be…" I start but am unable to finish.

"But I am."

"How?" I'm hung over and confused as hell. I walk to the curb and sit down, suddenly wishing I had something to drink or smoke in my hand.

"How? Easy, Rin Tin. Me and you—we were never born."

I look up at her with wide eyes. "I was born. I was married. I have a daughter. I have a job. I'm just having a very bad day. And you, you're just a drunken hallucination."

"Fine," she says as she stands there and puts her hands on her hips. "If I'm just one of your drunken hallucinations, wake your ass up and go inside," she points to the door as she says this.

I'm very familiar with this attitude so I promptly pull myself to my feet and head back to the door. Before I can even knock on it, it swings open and there stands the burly man who was standing over me with a bat a bit earlier. "Look lady, I don't know what the hell your problem is, but you need to leave. 'Cause if you don't, I'm calling the cops." He slams the door in my face and turns off the porch light.

I turn around and find myself face to face with myself. "So, uh, how's that going back inside thing working out for ya," she asks with a cocky smirk on her face.

I growl at her and start walking. I'll go to Nancy's. She'll be able to tell me what's going on and I can see Lindsey and make sure she's okay.

"Still thinking that I'm some drunken hallucination?"

I wrap my arms around myself, thankful that I at least had on pajama bottoms, slippers and a shirt when I was unceremoniously evicted from my residence. I just look at her and scowl, continuing to walk.

"I know where you think you're going," she says after we've been walking for a few minutes. "And she's not there. Nancy doesn't live there."

I stop and turn to face her. "What do you mean Nancy doesn't live there? Of course she does. She lives where she's lived the last seven years and Lindsey is there with her. She'll know what's going on."

My younger self just laughs to herself, "This is going to be tougher than I thought. Growing up hasn't made me any less stubborn."

"What's that supposed to mean? How about you quit talking in riddles and start explaining things? We have plenty of time. It'll take us a while to walk to Nancy's place."

"It's going to take a very long time to go to Nancy's place, if you intend to walk there, Rin Tin. Nancy doesn't live in Vegas."

"I didn't think I started drinking until I was 13, so I know you…I mean I…am not drunk. What do you mean Nancy doesn't live in Vegas? She has my daughter. She picked her up from school for me today."

"Nancy doesn't live here and you don't have a daughter, Rin Tin. You said you wished you had never been born. I'm here to show you what the lives of the people you care for so much are like. A glimpse, if you like, into how different things are without Catherine Willows in the world. And since you're so eager to see your sister—my sister, we'll start with her."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em….**

"Nancy doesn't live here and you don't have a daughter, Rin Tin. You said you wished you had never been born. I'm here to show you what the lives of the people you care for so much are like. A glimpse, if you like, into how different things are without Catherine Willows in the world. And since you're so eager to see your sister—my sister, we'll start with her."

The world moves by in a blur and we find ourselves outside an old farmhouse surrounded by rolling hills.

"Where are we?" I ask as we walk through a field toward the house.

"We're at Nancy's house. Don't you recognize this place?" my younger self asks me.

"No, why would I? I've never been here before. Have I?"

We walk closer to the house and kneel down in the tall grass of the field that runs beside it.

"You've been here before. There was a young man when you were in high school. Nancy was dating him, but you did as younger sisters are wont to do and weaseled your way between the two of them. It wasn't long before he was dating you instead of Nancy. And as is your MO, you quickly lost interest. He was tossed to the side like yesterday's news and you went on to your next conquest."

I can't help but look at my younger self in disbelief. "Which one is he?"

Young Cath smiles at me and shakes her head. "It's Michael Smilax. I didn't think you'd ever forget him."

I suck in a quick breath before whispering, "She married him?"

"Of course she did. She was in love with him. If you hadn't shaken your ass for him and slept with him, they never would have broken up. Without you around to do that, she's become the faithful wife and dutiful mother."

"So she still has Jeremy?" I ask, hopeful that some things haven't changed.

"No, Jeremy doesn't exist here. Remember, she married Michael. She never met Jeremy's father."

"So Jeremy's dead?" I can't quite wrap my mind around all of this new information.

She smiles and pats me on the back. "He can't be dead if he never existed, Rin Tin. Try to keep up here," she stands and moves closer to the house.

I follow a few steps behind her. "But what does she have here? Daughters? Sons? I'm still an aunt. What are their names?"

She turns to face me with a sad smile gracing her young features. "She has three sons and a daughter. But Catherine, you're not their aunt. You don't exist here. You have to remember that. You're the one that wished you had never been born. Remember?"

I sigh heavily and kick at a clod of dirt on the ground. Before I can answer, crashing sounds can be heard coming from the house followed immediately by muffled screams.

I sprint toward the house only to be stopped short by my mini-me's grasp on my arm. I try to shake her grasp, but she's deceptively strong.

"Let me go," I urge her. "That's Nancy screaming. I need to help her."

"You can't help her. Whenever Michael has a bad day, he comes home and takes it out on her. He's done this for years. It's only going to stop when she's dead," she tightens her grip on my arm. "She's had broken arms, concussions, various sprains and fractures. And all of this because you weren't around to steal her boyfriend. She never left this town. She never went to college. She never had a chance because you weren't around."

"Nancy is smart. She'd never stay with someone who treats her like this. Our parents…"

"Her parents," little Catherine corrects me.

"Right," I agree. "I don't exist so I don't have any parents. I get it. Fine, _her_ parents wouldn't let her live like this, would they?"

We move closer to the house, peering through a window. There's Nancy, a fresh bruise decorating her cheek and a trickle of blood on her chin from her freshly split lip.

"That's a nice look on her, don't you think? Some girls wear makeup and lipstick, Nancy wears bruises. It's too bad no one ever sees her," she turns around and leans backwards against the house as I watch Nancy moving around inside. "See, Michael controls every aspect of her life. Michael and the kids—those are the only people she ever has contact with."

"But Nancy is so outgoing. She always has friends around her. She was so popular," I attempt to reason.

"In the reality you're familiar with, she was. In this one, she's not popular anymore. And you can only be beaten down so much before you lose that free-spirit. See, Michael can't risk people seeing those bruises on her, so he doesn't allow her to go anywhere. She doesn't have friends over either. The few times she did, Michael was so rude to them that they swore they'd never come back."

I tear myself away from watching Nancy. "So no one knows? No one knows how he treats her?"

My teenage self just starts to walk back towards the field. I take one last look at Nancy and follow her.

"So that's it? You can just leave her here like this? You can leave her here knowing that he's going to eventually kill her?"

I don't even turn around to look at me, I just keep walking. I really frustrate myself.

"This is totally fucked up. If I were here, I wouldn't let this happen. Nancy wouldn't be…"

Mini-me wheels around and smiles widely, "But you're not here, remember? You were never born. That was what you wanted, remember? And because of that, she married him. Because of that, Jeremy was never born. Because of that, he beats her. And because of that, one day in March when she spills the milk she's pouring into his cereal bowl, he snaps. He snaps and he kills her. And none of that," she points back toward the house, "would ever happen if you had been born." She takes a few steps away and says so quietly it's almost lost in the breeze blowing through the field, "None of it would happen if you had been born."

**A/N: **Thanks once again to **Immi** for being my sounding board for this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em….**

We're walking through the field in complete silence when there's a flash of brilliant light. I put my hand up to my eyes to shield them and the light goes away as quickly as it appeared.

I blink rapidly and drop my hand. "Where are we now? Who else did I totally screw up by not being born?"

She merely chuckles before stepping aside so that I can see a sign behind her.

_Willows Entertainment, Incorporated_

I turn to mini-me and glare at her. "Eddie owns an entertainment company?"

She just nods her head a few times before starting to skip towards the building. I stand there still in total disbelief that Eddie owns something other than the shirt on his back.

I walk slowly toward my younger self and enter the building behind her.

"I know what you're thinking," she says as we enter the elevator. "You're thinking that this is supposed to be me showing you how screwed up everyone is without you. I'm supposed to be showing you how important your life was to everyone around you. Your life wouldn't have been what it was without Eddie in it. He was a pretty major part of it—for better and worse," she laughs as she says that. "You get it, right? For better or worse?" She waves her hand dismissively at me before continuing with her explanation.

"Eddie had potential. You had to have seen that, right?"

I snort, "Eddie? Potential? Only if we're talking about the potential to totally turn everything to crap that he touched. That man was a thorn in my side. If it hadn't been for him…"

"…you wouldn't have had Lindsey."

Her comment quiets me for a moment. "Let's skip this Eddie bullshit. I want to see Lindsey."

Mini-me starts to shake her head, "You still don't get it, do you? You weren't born. There is no Lindsey. Besides, Eddie, he's very interesting now. You're going to love this."

As if on cue, the doors to the elevator slide open and mini-me skips out onto the floor. She turns around and motions for me to join her. Begrudgingly I step out of the elevator and into a lavishly decorated office.

"We're in his office? What if he comes back and catches us?" caution fills my voice.

"Oh, he's not going to catch us. He's with his wife and kids in Aspen right now. Check out the pictures on his desk. He has such a beautiful family," she says mockingly.

As I move behind the behemoth that functions as a desk, she continues talking, "Care to guess how Eddie ended up with all of this?"

I pick up a picture of Eddie and his family. His wife is a gorgeous brunette and they have two children, a boy and a girl. The picture was taken on a boat.

I hadn't even noticed mini-me moving to my side. "That's his yacht. Well, her yacht," she corrects herself. "He gave it to her as a gift when they renewed their vows for their twentieth wedding anniversary. Her name is Laura. He met her when he was doing community service. Their son, Mitch, is 18 and a freshman at UCLA. Their daughter is Amanda. She's 15 and studying dance. They're hoping she'll make it into Juilliard."

I sit the picture back down on the desk and glance around the room at the various awards he's won, the pictures of him with his clients, and the innumerable family photos that litter every surface in the room.

"How did she get the devoted husband and I ended up with the lying, cheating bastard?"

Mini-me crosses the room and sinks into the leather couch that stretches along one wall. "I did mention the community service, right? Well, Eddie, or I suppose we should call him Edward since that's what he goes by in this reality, Edward was busted for simple possession and instead of jail time, the judge gave him community service."

I interrupt her, "Now that sounds like the Eddie I know. Damn judge should have thrown the book at him."

"The point is this, Eddie actually made something of his life. When he was doing that community service he met a lot of different people. He entered rehab and got his act together. He bought a small club and brought in lots of acts—some of them with real talent. He marketed their talent and helped them get record deals. Soon, he had enough contacts and had been around the business long enough that he no longer had to find someone else to sign his talent, he started signing them himself. With Laura's help, he was eventually able to move from some small studio in a rented building to this. He's worked every step of the way for this, Rin Tin. He's not the Eddie you knew in your reality."

I can only roll my eyes, "Eddie is Eddie. It doesn't matter which reality he exists in. That bastard was genetically encoded to be a sonofabitch."

Mini-me leans forward on the couch, "Look around, girlfriend. This is Edward Willows, successful entrepreneur, beloved family man, and philanthropist. This is not Eddie Willows, successful failure, adulterer, sometimes batterer, and overall greedy slimeball."

"So what? Because he met me and we were married and had Lindsey, he was a worthless piece of crap? I was what tipped the scales in favor of his shitty life? And without me around he's some standup guy who garners everyone's respect?"

I walk away from my younger self toward the window that overlooks the Los Angeles skyline. "I thought this was supposed to be about showing me how worse off people were because I was never born."

"It is," mini-me says flatly. "But don't you think it's awfully conceited to think that everyone is worse off without you around. Yes, you're important—or you were important in your reality. But you weren't important to _everyone_. Some people could have been better off without you in their life. And Edward Willows is just one of those people."

"You mean there are more? More people who are better off without me?" I can feel tears stinging at the corners of my eyes.

"Oh get over yourself, Rin. We have more to see," she stands up and walks back toward the elevator.

"Wait," I walk slowly toward her. As I enter the elevator behind her, I can't help but ask, "What was the whole point of showing me this—showing me how much better Eddie was without me?"

Mini-me laughs as she tosses her hair over her shoulder, "If seeing Eddie do well for himself isn't enough to make you regret your little wish about never being born, nothing is."

**A/N: **Don't you just love Catherine's little mini-me?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

The elevator started to move slowly enough. Mini-me's last comment was still ringing in my ears when the elevator suddenly lurched downward and continued to move faster and faster. I grab onto the brass bar that runs along each wall to keep from careening around the elevator and close my eyes, waiting for our descent to stop—to painfully stop in a crash.

Only it doesn't. The doors open and mini-me pries my fingers from the bar and leads me out of the elevator.

"The lab? Why are we at the lab?" I recognize my surroundings immediately. I should, I spend as much time here as I do at home.

"Notice anything different?" she asks as we continue to walk through the abandoned halls.

"It's different. Something's off," I look into the empty labs trying to decipher what's different about _this_ lab than the one in my reality. "This is what the lab used to look like."

Mini-me just nods.

"Before the explosion. This is what it looked like before the explosion. I wasn't here to put that jar of green liquid under the hood so there was no explosion."

"True. Hmmm," she cups her chin in her fingers, "I wonder what else has changed. Who did the explosion affect? Let's think about this for a minute."

I dip my head and whisper, "Greg." Then I lift my head and smile. "Greg. It affected Greg. But this is a good thing. It means Greg was never in the explosion. He was never hurt."

We continue to walk through the halls while I look into empty labs. "That is good, right? That Greg was never hurt in the explosion?"

Mini-me just shrugs her shoulders as we come to one of the last labs in the corridor. She pauses and just stands there. I move to her side. Through the glass I can see Greg. He looks very different. He's no longer the skinny, spiky haired, happy-go-lucky guy I remember him being.

I can feel mini-me's eyes on me before she speaks. "He's really different, isn't he?"

I don't take my eyes off of Greg. "What happened to him? I mean," I turn to look at her briefly before turning back to the window to observe him, "he's older now. He's hasn't filled out a bit. He's so…different. He's thinner than I would have imagined. He's so gaunt. He's not …"

"…using drugs? I dunno…let's see." She turns and walks down the hall. I take one last look at Greg before turning to follow her.

We round a corner and instead of moving deeper into the lab, we find ourselves in Greg's apartment—or at least I assume it's Greg's apartment. I'm the first to admit that we don't make a lot of money as crime scene investigators, but this hovel is well-below what he should be able to afford.

"Why does he live like this? He can afford to live better than this," I start to move around the apartment.

Mini-me runs her finger along the grime covered table in the kitchen before heading into the bedroom. As always, I follow her.

"This Greg does have a little problem. Well, it's more than a little problem," she says as she opens a drawer beside Greg's bed and pulls out a small box. She hands it to me.

I open it. Inside there's a small glass vial, a mirror, a razor blade and a straw. I had something similar once upon a time. I sit down on the bed with his stash still in my hands.

"But Greg was such a straight-arrow. He would never use drugs."

"Ah, the Greg you knew wouldn't have used drugs. But this Greg does."

"So why? What makes this Greg a…common junkie?" I can't quite understand what would make him resort to using drugs.

"Oh, Rin Tin. You can do better than just asking questions. Start answering them for yourself. Why _would_ Greg use drugs?"

I close the lid on his little box and stick it back in his drawer. "Maybe he needed something exciting in his life. And the little fucker thinks drugs are the best way to get that excitement."

"Keep going," mini-me says as she looks through the clothes hanging in his closet.

"I don't know. I don't know why he'd do this."

She walks out the door and I follow suit. I think I'm walking back into Greg's living room, but instead, we're back in the lab.

"You know all the answers. So tell me. Why is Greg a junkie? What was so bad that he had to start shoving that shit up his nose?"

My younger counterpart turns around and shakes her head at me while wagging her finger in my face. "You give up way too fast, Rin. This would be so much more interesting if you'd participate a little more. Yes, I do have the answers—all of them. But you do too, you just have to think about them. Dig deep."

I sigh heavily. I'm already growing tired of this little trip and the last thing I want to do is get sucked into playing games.

I brush past myself and find Greg's lab. I perch myself outside the heavy glass and watch him work. Then I notice something wrong. Greg is cross-contaminating evidence. I can't believe my eyes.

"He screwed up once. You know what they say, all it takes is one time."

I can't tear my eyes away from Greg. "Screwed up how? You expect me to believe he screwed up a case?"

"The sheriff's son was killed during a robbery. Greg was processing the evidence and doing one of his little dance routines to the loud music he was playing. He managed to knock over some evidence and DNA swabs were confused between the sheriff's son's case and another open case he was working on. Of course, both parties were arrested—the one from the sheriff's son's case and the other case—but were charged in the wrong cases. When all of the facts came out and Greg fessed up to what he had done to both Ecklie and the Sheriff, they wanted to keep things quiet. Both parties were guilty and were going to go to prison."

"That sounds like something Ecklie and Atwater would pull," I interject.

"The problem is, they now had something they could hold over Greg. They didn't want his original slip-up coming out because it would have called into question the integrity of the lab. And no one ever wants that. To make a long story short, they use Greg to manipulate evidence to get the outcome they want on subsequent cases."

"That smarmy bastard Ecklie lets him do this? Is that why he…he's snorting coke?"

Mini-me chuckles, "How much of a reason did you need back when you were doing it? Your little Greg here is just trying to find a reprieve from his crappy life. Can you honestly blame him? This guy has never seen a day of excitement. He didn't get to play hero and save some guy from a mob. Instead, he goofed up and knocked over evidence and it's cost him every shred of dignity and self-respect he has."

"Why do you insist on showing me these things?"

"Rin, you're the one who wished to have never been born. See what it cost Greg? Because you didn't blow up the lab and he didn't get hurt, he never wanted to get out into the field. If he had been doing field work, he never would have screwed up the way he did in the lab. And if he hadn't screwed up, he never would have been used by Ecklie and Atwater. And he ultimately never would have looked for comfort in white powder. The best thing that will ever happen to him occurs in about two weeks. His drug test will come back positive. He'll lose his job. He won't stop using, but at least he won't be under Ecklie and Atwater's control anymore. By July, it'll be his death that LVPD is sent to investigate. See, coke don't buy itself. He tries to steal from his dealer and he ends up dead."

"I get it. I get it!" I say as I grab her by the arm. "Just tell me how to fix it. Do you want me to undo my wish? Fine, I wish I had never wished I hadn't been born. There. I did it. Now take me back home and let everything just go back to the way it was."

"Sorry, but you can't put the genie back in the bottle when it suits you. We're just getting started."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

"Sorry, but you can't put the genie back in the bottle when it suits you. We're just getting started."

She takes my hand and we walk toward the locker room. She pushes the door open and we walk through it. Instead of finding ourselves in the locker room of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, we're standing just inside a classroom.

Mini-me immediately takes a seat on the back row in this theatre-like room. After a moment's hesitation, I join her.

"Where are we now? A college? Who could I possibly know that ended up being a professor instead of whatever they did when I knew them?"

A young woman turns around and glares at me. I mouth _sorry_ in her direction and lean closer to mini-me. "Is this Grissom? Do I finally get to see what's going on with Grissom?"

She shakes her head and presses her finger to her lips, effectively silencing me.

At the sound of another door opening, my attention immediately turns to the floor of the classroom. Students immediately begin flipping open books and laptop computers.

The petite woman sits a rather large cup of coffee on the desk that is at the center of her stage and makes a motion with her hand toward someone at the back of the room. I turn to see who she's motioning to, but the lights go off and the room is immediately filled with the vivid colors from a crime scene photo being displayed on the floor to ceiling projection screen.

"As is our custom, we'll dissect a crime scene from its photograph," she says as she moves gracefully across the stage. "What's the first thing we notice in this photograph?"

Hands immediately begin to shoot up around the room and young men and women begin offering up opinions on the things they notice. There's a part of me that really wants to raise my hand and participate. I manage to sit patiently for several minutes until all of the hands have gone down. I'm on the edge of my seat because I notice something that no one else has.

I turn to mini-me. "Don't do it," she warns. "You're just supposed to watch, not interact."

"What's it going to hurt?" There's surely mischief in my smile when I say that. I turn around and start to raise my hand, but she grabs it and pulls it down.

I simply raise the other one and she scowls at me. "Catherine, put your hand down."

The girl in front of me that had turned around earlier to hush me turns around again. "Go ahead and tell her what you think. Dr. Gribbs really wants us to participate."

I immediately drop my hand and lean forward. "I'm sorry. What did you say her name is again?"

"Dr. Gribbs. Dr. Holly Gribbs. She teaches blood spatter analysis—in case you hadn't recognized. She's the leading expert in the country." She looks at me with the same exasperated 'don't you know anything' look that Lindsey has given me a million times.

I simply nod and sit back in my seat. _Holly Gribbs._ I turn and look at mini-me. She's wearing that smirk that my mother said she wanted to knock off of my face as a child. I'm pulled out my musings by my new friend shaking my knee. I look at her and she's pointing to the floor of the teaching theatre where _Dr. Gribbs_ is standing with an expectant look on her face.

"She's waiting on you to answer," the young woman whispers.

I look at mini-me and cautiously stand, as had all the previous students when they offered their answers.

"So, what key piece of evidence did we miss in this photograph?" she asks.

There are at least a hundred pairs of eyes on me—including those of Holly Gribbs. I start to speak but my voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again.

"The bloodstain on the victim's shirt—it moves from the wound down towards his belt buckle—not to the side. This means he was standing when he was attacked, not asleep on the couch as his positioning in this photo would lead us to believe," I manage to say this with some semblance of confidence before mini-me grabs my hand and pulls me down into my seat.

"Thank you," she says to me before turning to the rest of the class and continuing my explanation in greater detail.

I just glare icily at my younger self and am about to light into myself when I hear announce, "And today's topic of discussion will be how human blood at normal body temperature acts in extreme conditions. The ambient temperature in an environment not only affects the rate of decomposition on a body, but it greatly impacts the way blood behaves."

The rest of her lecture is lost on me as I sit and think about Holly Gribbs.

Her first night on the job was hellacious. She was trying to gather evidence at a B&E when the store owner pulled a gun on her. At that point, she was ready to throw in the towel even though it was the first scene she had been handed. I talked her into staying.

I can still clearly hear that conversation in my head.

_We were sitting in some dive coffee shop after her first scene of the night went south once the store owner pulled a gun on her._

_Her voice was clear, honest and sincere when she spoke, "Look, um, I gotta be honest. This isn't me. I was pushed into by my mom. She's a Lieutenant in Traffic. She's never going to get out of traffic, so I'm fulfilling her dreams not mine."_

_The mother in me wanted to coddle her, to make her feel better. The CSI in me didn't want to do that. "I can sit here and I can baby you and I can tell you to quit, but I'm not going to do that, because I love my job. We're just a bunch of kids that are getting paid to work on puzzles. Sometimes there's a piece that's missing. Sometimes we solve it one night."_

_She looked a little more confident, but her voice betrayed her, "So you think I should stick with it then?"_

_I couldn't help but smirk at her and snort, "Stick with it? The cops? Forget it. They wouldn't know fingerprints from paw prints and the detectives…chase the lie. We solve. We restore peace of mind and when you're a victim, that's everything. Stick with it. At least until you've solved your first and if after that you don't feel like King Kong on cocaine… then you can quit, but if you stay with it my hand to god, you will never regret it."_

It was only a few hours later that Holly was in the hospital fighting for her life and not long after that, she was dead. People blamed Warrick for leaving her at that crime scene alone. I always blamed myself for talking her into staying.

Holly's death had meant so many things for us. Brass had been booted out of CSI and went back to being a detective. Grissom was finally over night-shift. He had brought Sara in to investigate Warrick's actions. If Holly never died, that means that Brass never left CSI, Grissom was still just a CSI, and that Sara had never made it to Vegas.

I'm lost in my thoughts, trying to figure out how everyone will be affected by Holly not dying when mini-me starts to shake me by grabbing my elbow.

"Let's get out of here. The class is over with," she stands up and squeezes past me to the aisle. She's muttering and I know it's about the fact that I participated in the discussion.

I stand to leave and am stopped short by a hand on my shoulder. I spin around and find myself face to face with Holly Gribbs.

She smiles pleasantly at me and extends her hand, which I promptly take. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Holly Gribbs and you are?"

I disengage my hand from hers and try to decide if I should give my name or not. "I'm Catherine Willows. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your class today. I was just…"

"It's okay," she says as she pats my shoulder. I don't mind prospective students sitting in on classes. I hope this doesn't offend you, but you're a bit older than the students who typically enroll in this class." She cocks her head to the side as if to study me, "Your answer was right on the money. I've never had a student actually catch that detail. I'd guess that you were already a crime scene investigator if you hadn't been checking my class out."

Mini-me is tugging furiously at my arm, but I'm doing my best to ignore her.

"Is this your little girl?" she asks as she looks down at my younger self. I simply nod.

She looks down at mini-me and then back and me, "I bet you have your hands full! I don't know what we'll do when ours is a teenager. I wish I could keep her little forever."

I reach over and pull mini-me in front me and ruffle her hair, "They do grow up so fast." I smile back at Holly.

She has kids. She has kids and she's not dead. That's good. That's very good.

Her cell rings and she fumbles around in her purse looking for it. She holds a finger up, indicating that she wants me to wait while she takes her call. Although she turned her back to us, I could clearly make out her end of the conversation.

"Hi, sweetie…tonight?...no, I told you we already have plans…no, no, NO…I don't care if they're only in town for one night, we already have plans…look, we'll talk about this when I get home….understand…I asked you if you understood." She slams the phone shut and turns back around a wide, might I add fake, smile stretching from one ear to the other.

"I'd love to stay and chat some more, but we need to be heading out," I say to Holly as I extend my hand to her one more time.

"Maybe I'll see you in one of my classes one day. If not, good luck. And in case you're looking for some good reading material," she hands me a book, "try this. It was my first book and it's still my favorite."

"Thanks."

Mini-me and I walked through the same doors we had entered earlier and were now standing outside a nice brownstone. It's a cool, autumn night and the stars are shining brightly on a moonless night.

"You really shouldn't have interacted with her. You're only supposed to watch!" she says through gritted teeth. "Don't talk to anyone else—ever. Understand?"

I nod mutely and stand watching the house. "What are we doing here? Who's house is this?"

"This house belongs to Dr. Holly Gribbs, her partner, and their daughter."

I look around suspiciously before asking, "Why are we here?"

My younger self just shakes her head and says, "You'll hear it in just a moment. Now, shhhhh, you don't want to miss it."

"Hear wh…" my question is cut off by a blood curdling scream followed by the front door to the house we've been observing swinging open. Out runs a little girl, maybe nine or ten years old. Even in the dim light and the distance, I can make out the blood that covers her.

I want to move, to run to the little girl, but mini-me's quick grasp of my elbow prevents me.

She knows way more about this reality than I will ever know. She knows exactly what just happened in that house, but I know she'll never tell me everything.

"What just happened?" I ask somberly as we walk down the sidewalk and into the darkness of night.

She's quiet and the only sound I can hear is that of an ambulance and police cruiser in the distance.

As we round a corner she finally says, "Someone just died. I guess you can only push a woman so far before she pushes back."

**A/N: **Thanks to **IMMI ** and **SOFROST** for their help.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

We continue walking down the dim sidewalk in silence until we're standing in front of the courthouse. We ascend the stairs and walk through the heavy wooden doors. Although it is dark outside, it's obviously a busy day in the courthouse. We walk through the metal detectors without incident and make our way down the long marbled corridors.

Mini-me leads us to a courtroom and walks right in and takes a seat on one of the benches. It's so crowded that I have a hard time making out who is on trial. The judge doesn't waste any time.

"Have you reached a verdict?" he asks in the somber voice that all judges seem to have.

The foreman stands and speaks, "We have, your honor." He hands a piece of paper to the bailiff who hands it to the judge.

The judge glances at it and then hands it back.

"Then what say you in the above entitled case?" he asks.

The foreman looks over at the table where the defendant is obviously seated and takes a deep breath, "On the charge of murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant, Nicholas Stokes, guilty."

I gasp deeply as my hand flies up to my mouth. I can hear someone crying, most likely Nick's mother, and lots of mumbling as flashes bounce around the room.

"Order! Order!" the judge barks as he slams his gavel down. "Mr. Nicholas Stokes, you were once charged with bringing justice to the victims of crimes like that you chose to commit. As such, leniency is not something I am inclined to show in this case. Therefore, I sentence you to serve the maximum penalty allowed under Nevada State Law. You are hereby ordered to serve no less than 25 years for the murder of Kristy Hopkins at a facility to be determined by the Nevada Department of Corrections."

I can't move, only sit on the heavy wooden bench in silence. Even as the court room empties, all I can do is sit there. Nick is going to jail. No, strike that. Nick is going to prison.

Nick's father escorts his mother from the court room followed by his sisters. I want to jump out of my seat and run to them—tell them the mistakes I _know_ were made. I want to tell them how this is wrong. But chances are the case isn't anything like I remember it being.

Mini-me and I are left alone in the court room. I can't bring myself to speak. I know that words have never failed me before now. In this situation, watching the wrong man go to jail for something that there's no way he would have ever done is a crushing blow.

"What's wrong, cat got your tongue?" my younger counterpart asks me.

"He didn't do it," I say hoarsely. "Why didn't someone find the evidence to clear him?"

"Are you kidding me? You ought to see the people they have working as CSIs here in Vegas. This is the last place I'd ever want to be the victim of a crime or accused of committing one. They were in a rush to close the case. Nick made a lot of noise about being innocent, but no one bought it. They took one look at the evidence and assumed that he was guilty. And let's be honest, cases have been made on less evidence than semen, fingerprints and an eyewitness. Nick was doomed from the beginning on this one. He had no cheerleader to back him up and work his case."

She stands up and walks out the doors. After a moment, I stand weakly and follow her. We walk out of the courthouse and find ourselves standing outside of a chain-link fence topped by razor wire.

"Nick's prison?" I ask, fully aware of the answer.

She just nods and starts to walk along the fence. "Did you know that they keep law enforcement officers away from the general population? For their protection, of course."

"I knew that. It's a good thing, too. Someone that Nick put away might be in there with him," I say as I have to squint because of the bright sunlight.

"You noticed how the judge too no pity on him? Well, the warden in this prison is even worse. He can't stand ex-cops. He really thinks they should be held to a higher stander and receive harsher punishments when they break the laws," she explains.

With my hand still shading my eyes, I turn to her and speak a bit more harshly than I probably should, "So, Nick is rotting away in jail for what? Because I simply said I wished I had never been born."

She laughs and points toward the yard, "Your Nick is doing anything but rotting away. He looks to be enjoying prison."

There, in the distance, I can make out Nick. He's much larger than I remember him being. There's obviously not much to do on the inside other than work out. The only fitting description I can give is that his muscles appear to have muscles. His torso and back are now covered in prison tattoos.

"What's all the ink for on his chest and back?"

"Oh, those? Well, the guys had a little fun with Pancho when he first arrived. Each tattoo is for a different guy that made Nick his bitch. Kind of interesting, isn't it? Some guys give you flowers or a mixed CD. The fellas just gave him ink."

I shrink back the knowledge that Nick was raped when he first got here. "He was…" I feel nauseous and can't bring myself to even say the word. "How did that many guys get away with doing _that_ to him without the warden knowing it?"

"Oh, Rin, I told you how the warden feels about ex-cops. He looked the other way. The way he figured it, Nick had screwed the system when he killed Kristy so he was getting what he deserved. Look at him, it doesn't seem to be bothering him that much. He looks happy enough, doesn't he? There's an upside to this."

I look at her like she's lost her mind. "An upside? There's an upside to being in prison? Lemme guess, the dental plan is amazing." My sarcasm isn't totally lost on her.

She shrugs her shoulders and walks a little further along the fence. "Yeah, there is an upside. He was never put in a box and left with a gun and a tape recorder. That's an upside, isn't it?"

"Really? 'Cause I kinda recall us finding him and saving his life. That was way better than what he's going through in there. I really hope I was never as naïve and as obviously ignorant as you're acting. How can you think this is better?" I'm on the verge of tears and my voice cracks as I continue to speak, "How can this be better?"

She just shrugs her shoulders and starts to skip along the fence. As usual, I pursue her. We walk until we find ourselves in a cemetery.

There are four headstones—Jude, Nina, Jeremy and Cassie McBride.

"But Nick found her. She's alive. He followed the trail of gum that she left. He found her!" I shout at her.

"No, he didn't. He was already in prison when this case came up. Someone else caught it and they didn't find Cassie until it was too late. She was probably better off. Can you imagine what it would be like to have seen your entire family killed and to have to live with that floating around in your head for the rest of your life?"

"Living is always better than dying," I say as I walk away from her.

"Hey, hold up. There's one more thing I want you to see before we leave," she heads deeper into the cemetery and like an obedient child, I follow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

"Hey, hold up. There's one more thing I want you to see before we leave," she heads deeper into the cemetery and like an obedient child, I follow.

We weave back and forth among headstones until she stops just in front of one. She suddenly turns around to face me. "Does May 17, 2001 mean anything to you?" she asks stoically.

I look up at the trees that are barely swaying in the wind. There are very few dates that instantly mean anything to me—the day I married Eddie, the day Lindsey was born, the day I divorced Eddie, the day Sara walked out of my life…and May 17th wasn't one of those dates.

I look back at her, shaking my head, "No, that date doesn't ring a bell. Should it?"

She steps aside and points down at the marker, "It does to him."

It's a plain marker, nothing extraordinary or extravagant. It simply reads 'Gilbert Grissom, August 17, 1956 - May 17, 2001.'

I sink to my knees and run my fingers over the letters of his name and the date of his death. "Gil's dead?" I whisper. "How?"

"Remember Syd Goggle?"

"I shot him. He was the Strip Strangler," I answer flatly. Then it dawns on me. "Oh, no."

"Oh, no, is right. In the world you remember, you were there and kept him from killing your good ol' friend, Gil Grissom. Only in this reality, you don't exist. Grissom still butted heads with the FBI and was still removed from the case. Only the likes of you and Sara weren't around anymore. There never was a sense of family on the team without you around. So, just like no one ran to Nick's rescue, no one was there for Grissom. Instead of you shooting Syd Goggle and saving Grissom's life, Syd Goggle beat Grissom to death with a shovel. Grissom hadn't bothered to tell anyone where he was going or his line of thought on the case since he was suspended. No one noticed him missing. In the meantime, Syd Goggle killed three more people before the FBI finally caught him."

I'm just sitting there shaking my head in disbelief when she continues speaking.

"His death was sorta ironic though. Grissom's specialty was entomology. Goggle dumped his body on an ant hill. Those ants had picked his skeleton clean by the time the FBI found it. Of course, the coroner didn't have to do much work to confirm the cause of death. The fragmented skull that was found with the rest of the remains—if you want to call them that—confirmed that he was beaten with the shovel. The problem though is that there was no way of telling if he was dead when he was dumped on that ant hill. You know how tricky head wounds can be."

I turn around and she's walking away from me. I give the letters on his name one last brush of my fingertips before choking back tears and murmuring, "I'm sorry. I should have been there."

I catch up to her and she says acerbically, "Yes, you should have. You should have been there for him, for Nick, and for Nancy. But you weren't. So suck it up, we still have some more people to visit."

"Fine, let's get this over with. Who's next?" my patience with her are wearing thin.

She cocks her head to the side and taps her finger against her lips, "Who do we want to see? We could visit Sofia. No, she's going to be interesting. We should save her for later. We could drop in on Warrick. Nah, he'll be a bit preoccupied. Maybe you'd like to see how Brass is doing? Or maybe even dear ol' Dad?"

"What about Sara? You didn't mention Sara. I want to see how Sara is—find out how her life is," I urge. "Let's check in on Sara."

She just waggles her finger in my face, "Oh darn, we should have gone to Grissom's funeral. You could have seen her there. She did show up for that." Her eyes light up like those of a child on Christmas morning. "I know exactly where we're going."

**A/N**: Grissom is dead. And many of you have asked about Sara—I've mentioned her—consider that an offering appeasement for now 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

She just waggles her finger in my face, "Oh darn, we should have gone to Grissom's funeral. You could have seen her there. She did show up for that." Her eyes light up like those of a child on Christmas morning. "I know exactly where we're going."

She starts skipping among the headstones with me at half trot trying to keep up. The headstones turn to trees and we're soon walking through a forest. Our pace slows to that of a leisurely stroll. It's a humid summer day and it's not long before I'm drenched in perspiration.

"Did you have to pick the hottest damn day of the year for us to take this little walk?" I ask in frustration.

"Why are you so difficult to please?" mini-me asks. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it?"

I just roll my eyes and storm off past her. When I come to the edge of the forest, I start to walk along the shoreline of the lake it borders.

I know mini-me is right behind me, but she doesn't bother catching up or saying anything. I can't help but wonder if I piss other people off as much as I piss myself off. I want to turn around and ask her, but my mind goes blank when I recognize the man in front of me, playing with a small child near the water. He's not much older than I remember, but he appears to be in much better shape.

As I near the playing pair, I can't help the wide smile that crosses my face. When he sees me approaching, he stands up and takes his hand firmly in his—clearly wary of me—a stranger—and my proximity.

"Hi there," I say looking from him, down to the little boy beside him. "Are you having fun today?"

The little boy shyly moves behind the older man's leg and sticks his thumb in his mouth.

"They're so precious at that age, aren't they?" I ask.

He turns his head to the side to study me, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I smile and take a step back, hoping to put him at ease. "No, we don't know each other. I'm just out with my daughter today," I hitch my thumb over my shoulder in mini-me's direction. "I just saw the two of you playing and couldn't help but think how cute you were with your son."

He smiles and bends down to pick the little tyke up. "Oh, this isn't my son. This is my grandson, James. His mom and dad are out in the water and I'm just keeping my eye on him," he says as he grabs the boy's stomach and shakes it and winks at him, making the boy squeal with delight.

I know I must look like one of those cheap department store mannequins with a smile plastered across my face.

Before I can say anything else, we're joined by the little boy's mother and father, fresh from the lake, and mini-me.

"Hey Dad, who's your friend?" the young woman asks as she takes little James from her dad.

"I'm Catherine. I was just telling your dad how adorable it was to see him playing with his grandson," I grab mini-me and pull her closer. "You can see how quickly they grow up and resent being anywhere near you."

She just smiles as her husband takes her hand and they walk towards a parked car. The grandfather extends his hand and speaks, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Catherine. I better catch up with them since they're my ride back to town. Ellie can't stand to be kept waiting. She got that from her mom."

I smile and nod at him as he leaves, then I turn to mini-me. "Ellie is back in Jim's life? And she's married? And she has a kid?" I think this shocks me even more than seeing Nick in jail and Greg as Ecklie's lackey.

"Oh, you noticed that, too?" she says as she walks onto a pier that juts out into the water and sits down, dangling her feet in the water.

I sit down beside her. "Care to explain this one? 'Cause I can't even begin to fathom how this one happened."

"It's simple enough," she starts. "With Holly Gribbs never dying, Brass was never sent back to being a detective. He grew pretty bored with just being a supervisor for CSI. After all, he'd put in 20 years back in Jersey, had worked vice and had even clean up his squad."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Explain how Ellie weaseled her way back into his life. That's the part I'm curious about. The last time I saw her, she was waiting for him to die so she could get her hands on his pension."

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—he grew bored with CSI. He had enough years to retire, so he did. He does a little work here and there as a private investigator, but mostly he's spending his days trying to make up to Ellie for not being there when she was a kid. It took him two years to get her to trust him enough to let him into her life. He helped her get cleaned up. The last time you saw her, she was working as a drug mule. Here, she never got involved in that. Never worked as a prostitute either. Rebuilding her relationship with Brass was the best thing that ever happened to her. She went to school and is now a teacher. Her husband, no doubt you saw how good looking he was, is a teacher also. And you definitely noticed little James."

"So he never almost died? Was never shot?" I'm smiling because other than Holly Gribbs being alive, this is the best news I've had so far on the people whose lives I've touched.

"Nope. Brass is doing pretty good if you ask me. He has his daughter back and a grandkid. Retirement is doing wonders for him."

My smile fades as I ponder how some people can be so much better off without me and others have their lives totally ripped apart. It seems unfair to show me all of this. It's as if the fates want me to see the balance they've tried to strike in my absence.

Mini-me starts to kick her feet back and forth in the water, "Whatcha thinking about?"

I sigh heavily and say, "Nothing."

"Good," she says as she grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. "Thinking is bad for your health. Let's head to our next stop."

We walk to the end of the pier, hand in hand, and jump into the water. Instead of walking onto a shore when we come up, we're walking onto a sidewalk and straight into a police shoot out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

"Good," she says as she grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. "Thinking is bad for your health. Let's head to our next stop."

We walk to the end of the pier, hand in hand, and jump into the water. Instead of walking onto a shore when we come up, we're walking onto a sidewalk and straight into a police shoot out.

As soon as I hear the gunfire, I grab mini-me, duck behind something and reach for my service weapon. Mini-me laughs and stands up, "Don't worry. This is all a dream. A nightmare, actually. And FYI…you don't have a gun. You don't exist, remember?"

"If I don't exist then how are people talking to me?" I ask as I wink at her.

She just rolls her eyes before walking toward the police car that's embattled with thugs in a shootout.

Regardless of the fact that she says we're in someone's nightmare, I'm hesitant to get in the way of a moving bullet. I just stand back on the fringes of the action.

"Recognize what's going on yet?" mini-me shouts over the gunfire.

I put my fingers in my ears (no sense in damaging in my non-existent hearing) and shake my head 'no.'

I notice one of the officers whirl around and grab his neck before falling to the ground. The gunmen take off in different directions as do the officers in pursuit. One officer remains behind with the injured policeman. Even from this distance, I know that was a fatal wound. There's no way anyone takes a bullet to the neck and lives to show off the scar.

Instead of the nightmare stopping, it starts all over again. This time only two officers are present—the one who was shot and a blonde woman dressed all in black--Sofia. He's still standing in the same position, firing at the suspects. She's in her previous position and watching, her gun held out in front of her. She never fires. Another officer appears in the shootout and joins the gun fight. Sofia still hasn't fired her weapon. The fourth officer appears out of thin air and starts to shoot. And still, Sofia has not fired a single shot. She seems to relax and gently squeezes her trigger. No sooner does the flash appear at the tip of her muzzle than does the officer reel around holding his neck, blood spurting from the bullet wound. The officers take off in pursuit of the gunmen but Sofia just walks over to the downed officer and stands over him.

I walk over to mini-me who is standing there looking down at the officer. "What's going on here? Why are we in a nightmare?"

"We're not in any nightmare. We're in Sofia's nightmare. See, since Holly wasn't killed and Brass didn't get busted back down to a detective, he was never partners with Sofia Curtis. They never joined this shootout together. Instead, Curtis had a different partner. She was the one driving and the one who joined the chase. She was standing where Brass stood in your reality. She's the one who fired the fatal shot."

I look at her in disbelief. Grissom was eaten by ants, Brass has a grandson and Sofia is tormented by nightmares of killing another officer. I can't help but wonder what my fate would have been if someone I knew had wished to have never been born. I pinch the bridge of my nose and decide I'll save that musing for when I have fewer things to concern myself with than I do at the present moment.

"Needless to say, about the time her medication starts to wear off, she slips into this nightmare. They really should increase her dosage—or try electric shock therapy," my younger, more sarcastic self offers.

The nightmare we're in changes. The scene ripples out of focus as a new one comes into focus. I turn to look at mini-me and she just points toward Sofia, "You're gonna miss the show if you're busy watching me."

I turn back and see Sofia sitting in her bathroom. The dead officer is standing there with her. It's quite disturbing to see him still in his uniform, but with a large gaping hole through his neck.

His mouth is moving but I can't hear anything he's saying. I turn to mini-me and ask her about that. She explains, "It's all in her head. Even though we're in her dream and can see what she sees, we can't really hear her thoughts. It's much too complicated for your little brain to understand."

If I wasn't absolutely worried about hurting myself, I'd hit her. With my luck, like I said, I'd just hurt myself.

I drawn out of my meditation by Sofia's voice, "I said I was sorry. No matter what I do I can't fix it. I can't fix it. All I see is your face every time I close my eyes. I can't sleep. I can't think. I'm sorry."

I watch as she tilts her head back and swallows a handful of pills.

"Don't!" I scream, but it's obviously in vain.

"We're still in her nightmare, Rin," mini-me reminds me.

I watch as the dead officer hands her a single edge razor blade and nods his head.

I close my eyes, but mini-me tells me to open them, "You don't want to miss this. People pay good money for this kinda entertainment. If only we had some popcorn…"

"Your little comments are really starting to piss me off," I tell her. "We're watching Sofia try to kill herself and you're making smartass remarks about it being entertaining. I would never say something like that, so I can't understand why you feel compelled to do it."

She just waves me off and turns back to the scene before us. Sofia looks up at the slain officer and then down at the blade in her hand before slowly drawing it across her wrist. She drops the blade without touching her remaining wrist. As the blood starts to drip from the gash in her wrist, she looks up at the dead officer with a weak smile on her face and glassy eyes, "It'll be all better soon."

I want to go to her, wrap her wrist up, make her puke up the pills, but I can't. This is a nightmare after all. Mini-me walks past me and out of the nightmare bathroom. I turn to walk out the door behind her, but find an entrance to a dark alley instead. I follow closely behind her, not wanting to lose her in the darkness.

I reach forward and take her hand in mine just as I stumble over something.

"Hey, watch it," the smokey voice warns.

I freeze, instantly recognizing the voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," I'm biting my bottom lip nervously as the voice now stands.

There isn't an inch of her that isn't covered in dirt or grime. Her once golden hair is almost brunette and in severe need of shampooing. Her clothes, several layers thick, are torn and tattered. "Whatcha looking at? You shouldn't be here this time of night—especially with a kid. You looking for trouble?"

I smile feebly, "No, no trouble. I was…looking for an old friend."

She snorts and turns back to arrange her few collected belongings. "No one down here has friends. You're in the wrong place. Go back where you belong. Go back where you belong," she says before grabbing her blanket and lying back down on the ground. "Go away."

She's fallen so far. I take a few steps before turning to look back at her. She might have been better off if she had died in that suicide attempt.

Once we reach the end of the alley and start to walk towards the strip, mini-me starts to speak. "The shooting was the end of Sofia Curtis as you knew her. She couldn't deal with it. She couldn't deal with knowing that she had taken an innocent life—the life of a brother in blue. It started with the nightmares and then came the suicide attempt. She was in a hospital for a while, but that didn't help. She left and ended up here—on the street—like so many other mentally ill people."

"What about her mother? Didn't she help? Couldn't she help Sofia?"

"Her mother? Are you kidding? Her mother cut off all ties to her when the evidence revealed Sofia to be the shooter. Nope, Sofia Curtis was totally alone in this. She had no friends to turn to, cut off from her family. You were right when you thought that she'd have been better off if she had managed to kill herself."

We walk in silence for some time until we find ourselves standing outside the Tangiers.

"Great, I was wondering when we would get to this one," I say before walking toward the doors. "Let's get this one over with. I still want to find out what happens to Sara."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

We walk in silence for some time until we find ourselves standing outside the Tangiers.

"Great, I was wondering when we would get to this one," I say before walking toward the doors. "Let's get this one over with. I still want to find out what happens to Sara."

It never ceases to amaze me how similar _all_ casinos are. They're essentially the same—just with different names. Once you walk out onto the casino floor, it's impossible to tell any of them apart. A blackjack table at the Tangiers is the same as one at Mandalay Bay. The nickel slots here are just like the ones at Caesar's Palace. Roulette is the same here as it is at the Excalibur.

And every day, thousands upon thousands of people stroll into these places and test their luck—'cause it's all about luck—and lose their money. They make people like Sam Braun very rich.

Mini-me joins me and takes my hand. "You see that man there?" she points to a nervous looking fellow sitting at a poker table with stacks and stacks of chips in front of him.

I nod my head in the affirmative.

"Well, he's cheating. And the eye in the sky," she motions to one of the hundreds of cameras around the casino floor, "is watching him. And sometime soon, he's going to be escorted off the floor. And he'll get to have a special little talk with the big guy."

"The big guy? You mean Sam? Sam doesn't tolerate cheaters, but they just kick 'em out and don't let them back in the casino. Right?" I start laughing, "Sam's too old to do his own heavy-work these days. He doesn't get his hands dirty--anymore."

While we're standing there watching the man, I notice a couple of suits approaching him. One of them leans over and whispers something to the dealer who starts the process of closing down her table.

"He's cheating?" I ask mini-me.

"Well, let's see. He has a stack of chips in front of him. He's sweating like he's running a marathon. And two of Braun's goons are standing over him. Do you really have to ask if he's cheating?"

She takes my hand once again and we walk past all of the slots and toward an exit that will lead us into the alley behind the casino. Once the door opens, we're at Lake Mead, standing in a grove of trees.

A limousine pulls up and out steps the two goons and the man from the casino floor. They begin to work the guy over, punching and kicking him. They take turns—one holding him up while the other delivers the message that Sam obviously wanted this guy to get loud and clear.

The goons turn and look at the limo before stepping away from the man and leaning against the trunk of the waiting car. The cheater, now beaten to a pulp, tries and fails miserably to get to his feet.

Another figure steps from the back of the car and walks over to the man. From this distance, I can't make out if it's Sam or not. I flinch and am about to move when mini-me grabs my hand. "I told you, no more interaction with the people we're here to visit. You can watch. That's it. Or this little journey stops—understand?"

I turn back to the scene and watch as the tall figure helps the man to his feet. They walk a bit closer to the water's edge. The new guy has his arm around the other guy's shoulders and is obviously talking to him. I notice one of the goons approaching him and handing something to our new guy. Almost as soon as he has possession of whatever was handed to him, he takes a step away, lifts his arm and pulls the trigger. The man crumples to the ground and it takes every fiber of strength I have not to scream as the gunshot bounces around the surrounding area.

As the goons move to slide the body into the lake, the gunman turns around and I can easily make out who he is now as the tail lights illuminate his features.

"Sam," I half-whisper.

"Yeah, good ol' Dad seems not to mind getting his hands dirty after all. See, all Sam ever had were his boys—his sons. And, well, we know how they turned out, remember? Anyway, yeah, he fooled around with the woman who was your mother, but you were never conceived. So he had no real incentive to ever clean up his act or try to make good. He's a tried and true, dyed in the wool mobster, Rin. He runs half of Vegas. No one makes a move in Vegas without his okay. He has more muscle working for him than Arnold," she turns to walk into the woods and I follow her. "See, he's old-school. People steal from him and he takes what's most important to them—their life."

She stops and turns to look at me, "Without Catherine Willows around, Sam never discovered his softer side. He really is the monster you always imagined him to be."

We keep walking until we reach the edge of the woods.

"Now what?" I ask with defeat and regret heavy in my voice.

"Now we go and visit your friend."

"Sara?" I smile and feel relief flood over me as I imagine what it'll be like to see her now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

"Now what?" I ask with defeat and regret heavy in my voice.

"Now we go and visit your friend."

"Sara?" I smile and feel relief flood over me as I imagine what it'll be like to see her now.

Mini-me just laughs. "Sara? Why do you care about seeing that woman so much? She's the one that up and left you, right?"

"What's your point?" I ask with venom in my voice.

"My point is that we're not going to see your precious Sara. We're on our way to visit Rick."

I immediately turn my thoughts to trying to figure out how Warrick might have been changed without me in his life. One thing is for certain, he never would have been investigated for leaving Holly at that scene alone—since I never talked her into staying with CSI until she had solved her first case.

"Whatcha thinking about?" mini-me asks me.

I sigh deeply, "I was trying to see if I could figure out how Warrick might be different in this reality. The only thing I can think is that Griss never would have brought Sara out to investigate him because Holly was never killed."

She runs her fingers through her hair and sneers at me, "Rick is…very different here."

Her statement is quickly followed by her doubling over in laughter. "You didn't notice, did you?"

I've managed to wear my own patience thin. When I speak, it's less than amiable, "Notice what, you little shit?"

She smirks and stands back up, "I was wondering when that nice façade you've been hiding behind was going to drop. You obviously didn't pay attention during our visit with dear old Dad. If you had, you'd have noticed another familiar face there."

I turn my back to her and close my eyes, trying to see everything again from our visit with Sam. Nothing in particular stands out—but I'm supposed to be looking for Rick. And then it hits me.

I turn back around to face her, "Rick is one of the goons working for Sam?"

"Bravo!" she says as she claps her hands. "Bravo!" I was wondering how long it was going to take you to realize that. I was really shocked that you didn't notice it when we were there. Oh well, better late than never."

"Why does Rick work for Sam?"

"How quickly they forget," she says as she sits down at a table in a café that we've just walked into.

"Rick's gambling must have gotten pretty bad," I say as I join her at a table.

She's sitting back with one arm slung over the back of her chair, "Bad? Bad is a relative term. Catastrophic might be more appropriate."

"But how? I know Rick had a gambling problem, but how did it get so bad that he ended up working for Sam?"

She leans forward, clasping her hands together on the table, "Well, let's just say that sometimes daddy dearest does have a heart. He could've put a bullet in Warrick just like he did the guy we watched him take out."

I wince as she reminds me of what we saw earlier.

"Oh don't go soft on me now, Rin. Sam doesn't always dirty his hands with the little details. He usually leaves those to Rick and his other little helpers. It's only when the right mood strikes him or enough money has been taken that he gets involved."

"Are you going to explain how he went from being a CSI to being a trigger man for Sam Braun?"

"Don't be silly, of course I am. His," she put her fingers in the air to make a quoting motion, "little problem wasn't discovered as soon as it was in your reality since Holly never died. He was leaving scenes early, showing up late and doing shotty work. Brass was never Warrick's biggest fan, so once Greg let it slip to Ecklie that someone told him that Warrick was placing bets for a judge instead of working, well, that was the final nail in Warrick's coffin. Like a typical addict, he turned to his addiction to make him feel better—to make some money. He was gambling at the Rampart one night and was losing, so they extended him some credit. He lost even more and didn't have enough to cover it. And when I say he lost, Rin, I mean he _lost._"

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I want to voice as much, but I don't.

"The best part of all this is the fact that Sam's made of Teflon now—nothing sticks to him. With Warrick on his team, there's never anything that can be traced back to him."

I sigh heavily, "Of course there isn't."

She reaches over and grabs my hand, "Look at the bright side, at least he never got married."

With that she smiles and stands up. "The service really sucks in this place and it's too noisy," she says as she walks toward the door. "Let's go somewhere a bit quieter."

We walk out the doors and find ourselves standing in a park. Mini-me finds a bench facing the playground equipment and sits down, motioning for me to join her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

With that she smiles and stands up. "The service really sucks in this place and it's too noisy," she says as she walks toward the door. "Let's go somewhere a bit quieter."

We walk out the doors and find ourselves standing in a park. Mini-me finds a bench facing the playground equipment and sits down, motioning for me to join her.

I walk over and plop down on the bench beside her. "Who are we here to visit? Hodges? Wendy? Ecklie? Some future victim of someone I wasn't around to make sure was put in jail?"

Instead of answering my questions, mini-me pipes up with, "It's a beautiful park, isn't it? I bet you took Lindsey to parks like this in your reality, didn't you? You spent hours watching her swing 'higher and higher' and swoosh down a slide over and over. It's a shame she doesn't exist here-- she'd love to play in this park. We're so close that you can even smell the salt air from the Pacific."

A Frisbee lands at our feet and instead of saying anything, she just looks up in the direction that it came from. I reach down and pick it up and follow her line of vision. A lanky woman is jogging towards us with a smile plastered across her face.

It's not until she's standing in front of us that I realize who the woman is. She's tan and much younger than I ever remember her being. Her shorter hair is tamed under a baseball cap with a pony-tail pulled through the opening in the back.

I immediately rise to my feet. Mini-me's firm grip on my shirt sleeve tempers my response as I realize that here, Sara won't know me.

Her smile is friendly and there is an air of health and happiness about her that she was totally void of when she left Vegas.

"Sorry about that," she says as she reaches out to accept the disc I'm extending toward her. "My friend obviously thinks I'm a Golden Retriever."

I want to speak but I'm afraid my voice will betray me. So instead, I just laugh—maybe too much.

Her smile turns nervous as she moves slightly to the side to look at mini-me. She waves the Frisbee at her and says thanks again before turning to head back to her friend and her game of Frisbee.

"Boy, you sure are smooth. How can anyone resist you?" mini-me taunts.

I cut my eyes in her direction.

She throws her hands up in mock surrender as she stands up, "All I'm saying is that you didn't say a word to her. You stood there like a bump on a log. Every time we saw someone else from your life, you asked about her. I guess I just assumed that you'd actually open your mouth and actually put together a couple of syllables."

"She looks young—and happy," I think aloud as we walk through the park.

"She should look young. She graduated from Harvard last year. She's back here working in the Coroner's office while doing her grad work over at Berkeley. She'll stick it out here for eight years before moving on. She doesn't leave to go Vegas, but she did have itchy feet. Of course, having found the love of her life, she was willing to pick up and leave and go wherever she went just to be with her—for more than one reason."

We approach another bench and mini-me pats the area beside her indicating for me to sit down.

I'm sitting there watching some woman pushing her little girl on a swing when her words really hit me. "She's…she has a …girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend is kinda an understatement. I think partner or wife might be more appropriate. You can see for yourself how serious they are," she points toward a lithe figure pushing a stroller down the path in front of us.

"She has a baby? Sara has a baby? When? How? Who?"

I don't wait for her to answer before standing up and walking toward Sara and the stroller.

I put on my best mommy face and she slows down at my approach. I smile at her and kneel down to look at the little tike.

"She's adorable," I brush my fingertips delicately over her unruly brunette hair. "How old is she?"

"She's fifteen months," she beams as she moves to stand next to me. She looks from the baby and up at me, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to stare, but have we met before? You look so familiar for some reason."

I just shake my head and add, "No, I don't think so. I get that all the time though. I must have one of those faces that just looks familiar to people. What's her name?"

"Gibson."

"Favorite professor," I half whisper as I stand back up.

She looks at me questioningly before stepping between me and the stroller. She's using her hands to talk and I can't take my eyes off of the glint of gold that encircles her ringer finger on her left hand. "How did you know that? I thought you said…"

"Mom, we need to go," mini-me rescues me by grabbing my hand and dragging me away from Sara as she's still standing there trying to figure out how I know who her little girl is named after.

We're out of Sara's line of sight when mini-me slaps my arm, "I told you not to interact with anyone else. That means especially HER! What were you thinking?" She doesn't give me time to answer before she continues speaking, "I'll tell you what you were thinking—you weren't! She doesn't know you and you letting her know that you know who she named her kid after only freaked her out!"

She storms off and leaves me to follow in her footsteps. I can hear her ranting ahead of me, "_Isn't she adorable? I must have one of those faces._ Give me a break! I'll be _so_ glad when this little visit is over."

We continue until we find ourselves walking down a busy street. It doesn't take long for me to notice the familiar swagger of Sara Sidle and I brush past mini-me and fall in step behind my former lover. She walks into a coffee shop and I follow her in.

While we're in line, she pulls out her phone and after pushing one button, she puts the phone to her ear. I can hear her end of the conversation.

"Hi, I heard from Tameron and Mike. They're in town and want us to have dinner with them tonight…Yes, tonight…Come on, we're talking about one night with friends we haven't seen since we left Berkeley…They're only in town tonight….Why do you have to be like this? …No, let's talk about it now…Please, I want to see our friends…I understand." Obviously defeated, she slams her phone shut and runs her fingers through her hair before sliding her phone into her pocket.

As she places her order for her coffee, I realize how similar her end of the conversation was to one I had previously heard. I turn and quickly walk out of the coffee shop and find mini-me watching a mime perform on the street. I walk over to her, grab her arm and drag her away from the show.

"Who is it? Is it who I think it is?" She starts walking, her elbow still firmly in my hand. Within a few minutes, we find ourselves outside a familiar brownstone. There's no moon and it's a cool, autumn night.

I drop her elbow and walk toward the house. I stand beneath a window and can hear the argument taking place inside.

I can hear Sara arguing, "One night—that's all I wanted, Holly. One night with people who were once our best friends."

"Those people aren't our friends. The bottom line is that we had plans…"

"…plans that could have been put off for one night. How important was it for us to go to opening night at some Art Show?"

I can hear the distinct sound of a hand meeting someone's cheek, "Don't ever interrupt me again. Understand?" There's silence followed by a bellowing, "I asked you if you understood."

"I understand perfectly, Holly," Sara's voice is crystal clear and ice cold.

"As long as we're clear," Holly's voice fades as she obviously leaves the room.

A few seconds later, a new voice enters the room.

"Mom, are you okay?" This is obviously the little girl I met what I can only assume were years ago. She must be a teenager by now.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Why don't you go and get your things and go stay at Gina's tonight?"

"Let's both go," I already know that Sara won't listen to her little girl. "I don't like Mother. She's mean to both of us and she hits you. We should leave. Please, mom?"

"If you won't go to Gina's, at least go to your room and stay there, Gib." The girl obviously hesitates, forcing Sara to become more insistent, "I'm serious, Gibson. Go to your room. Now."

I sit under that window for what seems like hours as darkness and quiet descend on the brownstone.

At some point, a light comes on and a figure walks past the window. I stand up and watch as Sara walks into the kitchen and a few seconds later, she walks past the window again. She pauses briefly at the bottom of the stairs and looks longingly up them before finally ascending them.

In a room beyond the landing at the top of the stairs, I can only imagine that all hell must be breaking loose. I begin counting…one…two…three…two ninety-one…two ninety-two…two ninety---

My counting is interrupted by the shrieking scream that comes from the second floor of the home. Shortly thereafter, Gibson comes flying down the stairs and out the front door.

Before the ambulance and police cruiser show up, I walk back to the safety of the sidewalk and join mini-me. As I reach her, the tears are flowing freely down my face. I turn once more to look at the brownstone and see Sara emerge from the doorway. She walks out and sits on the steps. Her daughter runs back to her and clings to her.

I turn back to my miniature self and the gravity of the situation finally breaks through to me. "This," I point back to the house and Sara, "is not right. She'd never kill anyone. She's not her mother."

My half-pint version shrugs her shoulders before disagreeing with me. "I don't know. They say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Sara's mom managed to kill her father with her as the only witness. She obviously did the same thing with Gibson in the house. And I don't recall hearing a gunshot. That means she used a knife—just like mommy dearest."

"NO! She is not her mother. Sara fought hard not to be her," I'm adamant in my refusal to accept this.

"Think what you wanna think, Rin. That jury is going to find her guilty. She's going to go to jail. Her daughter is going to grow up in the same system she did. What are the chances she'll be as strong as her mother? And let's face it, do you really believe that Sara is tough enough to handle prison? Do you?"

Mini-me walks away from me before turning back and adding, "Don't you think this is way better than having her leave you? Isn't knowing that she'll spend the rest of her life behind bars better than the heartache you have to face because she couldn't deal with the ghosts of her past in your reality?"

"Fuck you! I didn't expect Grissom to end up dead. Greg shouldn't have to be an addict because I have a broken heart. Nick and Sofia didn't deserve what happened to them. I'm happy that Brass had a decent life, but Eddie sure as hell never deserved to have the life he has here. My Lindsey was never born and Nancy ends up dead because I didn't sleep with her boyfriend??? I don't believe that Sam is really that much different, but Rick could never be the cold-blooded bastard I saw at his side. And Sara—Sara doesn't deserve this! This is not better than having her leave me. This is not better than wondering what I could have done differently. This is not better! This is not better!"

"Come on, Rin. You don't mean that," her eyes sparkle and she has a devious smirk on her face. "Do you?"

"I'm glad I was born. I'm glad I made a difference. I'm glad I had the chance to love Sara even if it meant…even…even if it meant losing her. I wish I had never made that stupid, stupid wish. I just want to go back. Go back to the way things were," I sink to my knees, sobbing openly. "I just want to go back. I just want to go back."

**A/N**: Thank you Immi


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

"What makes you think you can just say that you want to go back and it'll just happen? Do you really think you can have a little meltdown and get your way? That your wish can just be undone? You can't unring the bell, Catherine Willows!"

We are standing in the middle of…I'm not sure where we're standing. There are no houses around, no cars, nothing. It's like we're suddenly in a vacuum and we're surrounded only by darkness.

"I can fix this. I can make everything right. Send me back. Let me go back home," I plead with her.

You know those sinister laughs that the bad guys always have in crappy horror flicks? Well, mini-me lets loose with one of those. "Let me get this straight. You think I can snap my fingers or wave some magic wand and you'll suddenly be back at home with your life the way you remembered it? Don't forget that in your little reality, Sara is long gone. She left. She left you and Lindsey and she didn't have the guts to even tell you to your face. A letter—not even a letter, really—is all she left."

"She said she needed to go. That she was going to…it doesn't matter what she said. At least there, she's free and not going to be in jail. Even though she left the way she did, I still love her. And I'd have Lindsey and all of my friends."

Mini-me stands directly in front of me and reaches up to poke me in the chest. "I'm fed up with you not knowing what you want, Rin. One moment, you wish you had never been born. The next, you want to go back to your life."

As she speaks her last words she shoves me hard. As I step back to regain my footing, I realize there is nothing beneath me but air. As I fall, I look up into the darkness. I land with a sickening thud and everything goes black.

xxxxxxxx

"How long … like this?" a voice asks through the fog. I recall this voice. It belongs to someone I know, but I'm not sure who.

I can feel fingers running through my hair and my hand suddenly feels warmer.

"It's ….three days...expected … wake up…hairline fracture….swelling…brain trauma…"

This second voice is unfamiliar and clinical. I can't pick out every word that's being said and I find that extremely frustrating. I'm concentrating very hard. I can't tell if I'm having a hard time understanding the discussion because of the machines that are beeping and making a host of other noises or for some other reason.

I'm faintly aware of the continued talking going on around me. It hurts to try and think—to try and concentrate long enough to hear what's being said. It's a good thing I don't have to think about closing my eyes because I'm sure even that would take too much effort at this point.

XXXXXX

"_Sara? You home?" I called out for her as I walked toward the bedroom and received no response._

_Once I crossed the threshold into the bedroom we shared, I immediately noticed the closet door ajar and drawers in the dresser not completely pushed in. The drawers belonged to Sara and I knew that if I walked into the closet, I'd find her clothes missing._

_She'd been increasingly distant and disturbed the last few weeks at work. I didn't have the slightest clue what to say or do to make it better. Even though she lived, it was like a piece of her—a very big piece of her—died in the desert that day._

_I sat down on the foot of the bed and hung my head. I sat there until it turned dark outside. Only then did I crawl up on the bed and decide that I should sleep. When I slid my hand under my pillow, I felt something. I pulled it out and flipped on my bedside lamp. I immediately recognized the familiar handwriting of my lover. _

_I slipped my fingers inside the envelope and pulled out the neatly folded slip of paper. _

_Cath,_

_It was only in you that I really found love. And that makes everything so much easier and so much harder. So much easier because I know that you'd stand by me through anything. So much harder because I don't want you to see me hurting—to see me weak and needy—to see me battling ghosts and demons from my past._

_You were with me in that desert and the thought of you kept me alive. I know you won't understand this now, but I hope that in time you will come to realize that it's because you love me that I need to leave now and deal with those ghosts and demons. I'm afraid that if I stay here, I'll lose myself—or at least what's left of me. And I don't want you and Lindsey to see that happen._

_I could live a million lifetimes and would never find someone who completes me as wholly as you do._

_I always have and always will love you._

_Sara_

_The next morning when I awoke, the letter was clutched against my chest and her side of the bed was still empty. I knew she wasn't coming back. _

XXXXXX

I try to reach up and rub my head in an effort to relieve the incessant pounding that I can hear echoing throughout my head. My hand is encased in warmth and my arm is held down by something. I manage to half open one eye and turn my head slowly enough to make out what is preventing me from easing my pain.

"Sara?" My voice is alien and hoarse. It's barely above a whisper and I'm not certain she could hear me even if she was awake.

Her head shoots up and she flashes that gap-toothed grin I'm so fond of. "You're awake?" she says softly. "You've been out of it for four days. Lemme get a doctor to check you out."

She stands and tries to pull her hand away. I clutch it tightly.

"Why? How?" I want to ask so many things because I'm afraid that if I let her walk out that door now she'll never come back.

She sits back down but leans forward closer to me, running the fingers of her free hand through my hair. "I'm still your emergency contact. Grissom knew how to find me. After the second day with you in a coma, he called. I took the first flight back I could."

I start to cry. I can't help it. It's been two months since I last saw her. No phone calls. No emails. No letters other than the goodbye letter she left for me. A part of me wishes she wasn't here. Although I'd never grow used to not having her around, I had grown comfortably numb about the situation. When she leaves again, I'll have to start that process all over again.

"When's your flight back?"

She stands up once more, "Lemme get the doctor and then we can talk, Cath."

"Answer me, please. You walked out once without saying anything. I just want to know when to expect you to leave again," my voice is laced with bitterness and anger. I do understand why she left, but I don't have to like it.

She bends down and kisses me gently on the lips before turning and walking toward the door.

"Sara," I call after her. She turns around, her hand holding the door slightly ajar, "I love you. Come back to me when you can."

She just nods and walks out the door. I know I saw a tear roll down her cheek.


	14. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

**Epilogue**

I spent a week in the hospital before being sent home. The doctors had all sorts of fun repeating test after test on me. It seems as if I had some really unusual brain activity while I was in a coma. Highly irregular brain activity as the doctor described it.

I didn't feel entirely comfortable sharing with the doctors what I thought might explain the activity. Instead, I just let them poke, prod and hook me up to every machine they had. They were never able to repeat the results of previous tests. And hopefully, I'll never have to repeat the whatever it was that I went through. It seemed entirely too real to be a dream, but I know there's no real explanation for what I think I experienced.

I never saw the Sara doppelganger that spent the night with me again. I suppose that hitting my head on the bathtub and ending up unconscious was more than she really wanted to deal with after a less than lackluster sexual experience. At least she had the good sense to call 911 before she left that day.

Two weeks after I returned home, I received a post card—from Sara. It was postmarked from San Francisco and it simply said, "I miss you." It was more than I had received in the previous two months. I took that as a good sign.

I considered going to San Francisco several times to find her—to plead with her to come home—to come back to me. But I never did. As loathe as I was to admit it, she needed that space and distance to find herself again. As desperately as I wanted her with me, I wanted her whole more than anything else.

Every two weeks for the next six months, I received a similar card always with the same postmark. She only ever used two sentiments—'I love you' or 'I miss you.' They showed up every two weeks until today.

My heart sank when I took the mail out of the box and found no card from her. It was like losing her all over again. At least I knew she was still alive as long as I was receiving the post cards. I sat and wept like I had the first time she had left. Only this time it felt final.

When I heard the front door open, I wiped my eyes and turned around expecting to see Lindsey home from school. I didn't want her to see me upset. She had long ago quit asking about Sara and I never told her about the postcards.

Instead of Lindsey, there stood Sara. She was tan and had put on some weight. Her hair was shorter and for the first time ever, she was wearing shorts and flip flops.

I sprang to my feet and had to force myself not to run into her arms.

She walked toward me slowly, but deliberately, stopping short of coming into physical contact with me.

I needed to do something with my hands to keep from clutching at her, so I slid them into my back pockets. "I didn't get a post card today."

"I know. I'm sorry about that," she said as she closed the remaining distance and drew me into her arms. "I thought you might prefer to have me tell you in person how much I missed you and how much I love you instead of reading it on some postcard."

"Do you mean…" I couldn't even finish my question—the disappointment being too much for me to bear if this was to be short-lived.

"I came back to you, Cath. You're the only home I've ever known. The past can't keep me from my future."

**A/N: **Immi wouldn't allow me to leave the story the way I had intended to leave it. And since she wanted a happy ending, I thought I'd give her one. Now, if only I could get her to finish Starfall and I Already Knew.


End file.
